Subjugate
by yangires
Summary: Suddenly, that trip to Los Angeles didn’t seem quite so pleasant. ―AU, Beyond x Misa―
1. The Space Between Dream And Reality

**Subjugate**

-One-

― x ―

Chapter One: The Space Between Dream And Reality

Rating: T -- PG-13

_Summary_: Suddenly, that trip to Los Angeles didn't seem quite so pleasant.

**Disclaimer**: Death Note Tsugumi Ohba, and Takeshi Obata, while the character of Beyond Birthday belongs to Nisioisn.

Well, I haven't _really_ done anything besides icons for the Death Note fandom, and well, I think it's about time… Even if what I have to offer is this piece of cra_ck_. Either way, I'm determined to make it work.

This was originally written for LiveJournal's '30 Kisses' community. I'm still waiting for it to be accepted, and even if it isn't, I'll still go on with this idea. I haven't really seen a fic around here with this… _unique_ (for lack of better word) pairing, so being the crack-pairing writer I am, I decided to take a shot at it.

Yeah, before we start, there are some things you should know. Misa has** just started her modeling career**, the year is **2001** (December, to be exact), and last but not least, this story will **contain spoilers for the whole novel**. _Spoilers_ on Beyond Birthday and 'who-the-hell-is-he' will be available at the end of this lovely little chapter.

* * *

"Nng…"

Misa clutched the bar of metal in front of her; how people could ride these infernal contraptions every single day was _beyond_her. She brought her body closer to the pole, any thoughts against doing so and keeping her coat clean out of her mind in an instant, and, oh dear God… Was the train shaking or was that her head?

This was supposed to be the best week of her life, she wasn't supposed to be clutching a pole inside of a train _crammed_ with people in the middle of December, her head pounding and dizzy from lack of oxygen. No. Not at all. She was supposed to be in a photo-shoot, looking absolutely fabulous and on her way to fame, not wrapped up in the cheapest coat she could buy with her pathetic pay-check from her shifts at Note Blue, and _definitely _notin a vermin infested subway just because her manager had suddenly decided to call her at the last minute and tell her that her photo-shoot had been moved up all the way to July and that he hoped it wasn't an inconvenience.

Hah.

_Inconvenience._ Of course not, it was a _fucking bloody_ nightmare, solely because, well, she was already in_ America_ – the same America that's about _fourteen_ hours away from Japan.

But no, Misa-Misa was supposed to be happy, and cheery and not pissed off at all, nothing like Amane Misa at this moment.

This photo-shoot was supposed to be quick, one week here, another there, and the she could return to Japan and spend her birthday with her family and friends. But _no_. She had to jinx herself the moment she waved good-bye to her friends and opened her big mouth to brag about how _fabulous_ this week had been.

She couldn't return to Japan, not now at least. She had saved up for that plane ticket and she certainly couldn't afford to buy another without getting paid first. Really, what had she been _thinking_?!

God; she was screwed… No. She was more than screwed, being screwed would have been a privilege right now, she was as good as dead. How in the world was a 17-year-old Japanese model with little to no knowledge about Western countries suppose _survive_ here?

Misa felt the train halt to a stop, the sound of metal grinding against metal and the sudden stampede not helping her current predicament. She needed to find a nice, quite place to think, maybe check if she could find a place that would take her at least _one_ of her various cards and buy herself some water and aspirin.

She massaged the bridge of her nose, convincing herself to walk away from the germ-infested piece of metal and step out of the train. Her head hurt far too much, and she couldn't care less about how she looked right now; she needed to find some place where her cell phone got reception and call the agency, tell them what happened and, hopefully, it'll be better.

"That'll work…" she muttered, not entirely sure if she was stating a fact or if she was trying to make herself feel better.

She stared at the florescent green sign bolted into the pillar, Misa squinted. Why did she have to fall asleep during English class while she was in school? Obviously, she didn't expect it to be so importantand she certainly didn't expect to be standing here struggling to decide if the sign read 'Vermont' or 'Vermillion'.

No use, unless she could magically learn proper English by staring at this sign. And being roughly pushed around by the crowd around her, Misa doubted it would be of much use to keep standing here like an idiot. So, she turned around on her heel and--

Well… That's when it all happened.

It was to be expected, of course, but Misa wasn't good at predicting, and really, this guy had just _literally_ blocked her path, slamming into Misa and knocking both of them off balance. Oh, but that wasn't enough now was it? The very same person just _had_ to be carrying _something_, that dumped its contents all over Misa's chest; and then, to make things worse, not only did he grab the front of her coat by instinct, he just so _happened_ to grab the lower part of her body too, _right where her skirt is_.

The result was of course, disastrous.

She wasn't covered in coffee, nor was she covered in water. Oh no siree, she was covered in jelly. _Jelly_. Who in their right state of mind, walks around a subway in California, eating _pink_ _jelly_ from a jar?

No, you do not have answer that.

In her fleeting moment of clarity before Misa hit the ground, she decided that, yes, she was actually glad for once that she wasn't well known, this would have made fantastic front page news.

Looking down, Misa realized that she was on top of the stranger, seeing as how her view of the dirty concrete floor was currently being blocked by a pair of oversized jeans. She flushed; something up there was trying to get her.

She slowly picked herself up, refusing to stay in such position anymore and prepared herself for what could happen next, however; nothing could prepare her for the sight that greeted her.

Red eyes, he had _red eyes_. Wide and circled by what Misa thought –_hoped__**—**_was make-up. Messy, black hair stood up in all directions, and Misa was sure that her hairdresser back in Japan would have a stroke just by _looking_ at him. This… man was definitely a slob; maybe even a pervert, by the way he kept staring at her chest, nibbling on his thumb pad and tapping on a half empty jar with his fingers –his _sticky_ jelly covered fingers.

She clenched the hem of her skirt, unable to pull her gaze away from his, even if she swore that this strange man was trying to undress her with his eyes.

He made a sound –similar to one that a parent would use when scolding a child, and shook his head, almost disappointed. _Almost_.

"What a waste of good jam."

Misa gritted her teeth; she had tried to be patient, to see if this _pervert_ had enough common sense to apologize. But no, he didn't. All he cared was his jar of fattening pink goop; which, by the way, _had just ruined her coat_.

…Sure, it was cheap, and easy to replace, but this guy was so… So indescribable! Barbaric! Who in their right state of mind would walk around, eating jelly with their hands, and when they spill it all over someone else, all they care about is that it was a waste of 'good' food?

She gritted her teeth; oh, he was going _down. _

"Excuse me, what did you just say?"

Her English was sloppy, slurred, and almost gibberish. Calling English Class 'Nap Time' was a very big mistake.

"Oh, are you daft?" he replied, looking up to her as if he had just realized she was there. "I said that it's such a good waste of jam, your coat just completely ruined it."

His voice was deep, British, hoarse, and extremely bizarre. She twitched every time she heard it.

_Daft_? Misa swallowed, biting down a rather colorful insult. She had an image to conserve, and it just wouldn't do if she went around L.A. randomly tackling idiots just because they happened to insult her, claiming that _her_ coat had ruined _his_ 'snack', if it could be considered so, and not the other way around.

So… She took the calm, rational approach.

"You spilled jelly all over me." Misa said, trying to remain as calm as possible and finding it particularly hard to resist kneeing this person where it hurt.

He blinked, tilting his head and proceeding to lick the sticky substance off his fingers. "I didn't spill jelly all over you."

"Is that so?" she hissed, mentally counting numbers inside her head. A worthless attempt at calming her anger. "Then what _did_ you spill all over Misa's _coat_?"

"Oh, that." He smiled, lopsided and strange, and Misa almost shuddered. "I spilt jam all over your coat."

"…Didn't I just say that?"

_Jelly_… **Jam**… _Jelly_… **Jam**…

Was there any difference?

"No, you did not." The man said, as it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You said jelly, there _is _difference, you see."

…Of course there was.

"I don't _care_." Misa snapped, appearances be dammed, this guy was getting on her last nerve and she was going to do something about it. Without saying another word, she grabbed the man's hand –grimacing, her head held as high as possible and marched right over to the nearest vacant spot, ignoring the strange man's protests.

"Give me your jacket." She demanded, holding out her hand to receive it.

The man blinked, a glint in his bright eyes clearly showing his amusement. "Why?"

"Give me your jacket." Misa repeated; this man could _die_ from pneumonia for all she cared.

He smiled once again, and Misa wanted nothing more than to knee this man in the crotch and be done with it.

"Just… Give me your _jacket_. You already ruined my coat, so just give Misa your jacket."

He made a small sound of disapproval before unzipping the front of his jacket, causing Misa to realize just how _horrible_ his posture was. A little more and he'd be with his face on the ground.

"My name is Rue Ryuuzaki." He suddenly said, putting the stretched and used piece of clothing in Misa's hand.

She looked at him incredulously, suddenly regretting having asked for the jacket –mainly because it stunk, and partly because she realized she would probably look better with a jelly- _jam_-stained coat than a filthy, 'Rue Ryuuzaki' scented jacket.

"Misa didn't ask for it." She responded, scrunching her nose as she held the jacket before her –it was probably three times her size, and wait, did first names go before the family name in America, or the other way. She wasn't sure if she wanted to know.

"It's common courtesy."

"Ah." She didn't care, and didn't really want to know anything else about this perverted red-eyed man. "Nice meeting you, Mr. Rue."

And she was gone, happily aware about the fact that she would never meet this 'Rue' person again.

Little did she know, that something, somewhere _clicked_.

"It was a _pleasure_ meeting you too, Amane Misa."

Beyond Birthday grinned.

* * *

**Well, just as promised, some **_**spoilers**_** on Beyond Birthday. **

**Beyond Birthday (commonly referred to as 'BB' or simply 'B') is a character from the Death Note novel, 'Another Note'. He's the master-mind behind the pre-Kira case that Naomi mentioned working on with L. **_**But**_**, that's not the point. It's who exactly B **_**is**_**. **

**First of all, he's a former Wammy's kid (that speaks for itself), and like any other Wammy's House resident, he needs to have three defining characteristics. Quirks, obsessions, and a **_**charming personality**_**. **

**One, he has Shinigami Eyes. **_**Natural **_**Shinigami Eyes. **

**Two, B's obsession is **_**L**_**. To a point where he emulates all his quirks, taking great care to look identical to him in appearance. **

**Three, well, he's a homicidal nut who kills little girls with metal bats and gives them free eyeglasses just to get L's attention. What can I say? **

**I'm assuming he's older than the trio (Mello, Near, Matt), but younger than L; somewhere around 20-ish by the time this story takes place. **

**So, to sum it up, B is the homicidal version of L with Shinigami Eyes thrown into the mix. XD **

**Anyway, on another note, I **_**do **_**know that Misa can't use her cellphone in American unless she gets a new one (as my lovely beta-reader pointed out, thank you!), but I doubt Misa actually knows that herself (so get ready for a possible tantrum next chapter). **

**Now, go feed the authoress and make use of that 'review' option. **


	2. Perfect Blue

**Subjugate**

-Two-

― **x** ―

Chapter Two: Perfect Blue

Rating: T -- PG-13

_Summary_: Suddenly, that trip to Los Angeles didn't seem quite so pleasant.

**Disclaimer**: The original Death Note concept belongs to Tsugumi Ohba, and Takeshi Obata, while Beyond Birthday belongs to Nishio Ishin. The little line in the middle of the story is from Fall Out Boy's 'A Little Less Sixteen Candles, A Little More "Touch Me"'.

This was originally written for LiveJournal's '30 Kisses' community. Yes, it was accepted. Still up for a totally cracked pairing with a serious(?) plot? Good.

Now, assuming that you actually took the time to read the Author's Note last time, all I need to say here is that December 24 _was_ a Monday on 2001, I checked. 8D;; And, by the way, this chapter is pretty much unedited (since I can't seem to get a hold of my beta), so you're very likely to find some mistakes.

* * *

In the following week after _The Incident_ –as she had started to call it after the first day or two of walking around Los Angeles in that foul smelling jacket, Misa had made three _wonderful_ little discoveries; one being the fact that attempting to enjoy a latte on a sidewalk, apparently, made you a beggar (as she had learnt upon receiving eight dollars from some nice old lady with a cane), the second being that if she even _hoped_ to survive here she needed a job –something off the books most definitely, and the third being the most _fantastic_ of them all…

Japanese cell-phones do _not_ get American reception. _Wonderful_, simply _wonderful_.

All in all, it was an understatement to say that Misa was hungry, tired and annoyed –all of which might explain the random destruction of one newspaper (although she kept the yellow pages, she _swore_ she saw an ad for a job in some placed called 'Perfect Blue'), the dents on one unfortunate trashcan, and the ugly bruise on her foot from the aforementioned.

Misa sighed, shifting uncomfortably as she fumbled with the keys to her apartment.

Apartment 606, Misa supposed, sounded less like her new home than something straight out of a horror movie.

Still, it would have to do; she was in no condition to be meticulous about her living arrangements. Not while she was still jobless and all she could afford was this cheap, filthy apartment downtown.

Speaking of which, Misa remembered, she needed to stop delaying the job search. It wouldn't be long before she completely ran out of money and was forced to live out on the streets. And really, living in this place was more than enough.

Locking the door behind her and giving it a little shake for good measure, Misa quite literally _skipped_ down the hallway. Hopefully, the movement would rattle her brain enough to keep her mind away from thoughts about this dreadful _nightmare_ –one she hoped she would awake from soon.

Thirteen minutes and one frazzled taxi driver later, Misa found herself standing before a rather friendly looking diner. She glanced at the 'Help Wanted' sign and pushed the door open; her heart felt like it would pop out of her ribcage any minute now, and Misa found herself taking deep breaths. She had to remember that this was just a little interview, the people here didn't bite.

…Right?

She certainly hoped so.

Misa looked around, saying a silent prayer to every god she could think of. This shouldn't be difficult; she had no reason to be so worried. This interview is _nothing_ compared to the dozen she's been in Japan, and it certainly didn't hold a candle to all the photo-shoots she's been part of.

So… Why was it that she was checking out all the exits, again?

No use, Misa needed to calm down. She needed to relax and stop fretting over such a small thing; even if the language was different –and her pronunciation was far from eloquent, this was the same as any other interview. You talk, you smile, add a little schmoozing here and there for good measure and then proceed to talk about details; when, where and how much. Nothing new for Misa-Misa, really.

And sure enough, it wasn't. After _kindly_ grabbing the cashier's attention –or rather, slamming her fist into the counter and demanding to see the manager with the highest-pitched tone Misa could muster, and having a rather 'pleasant' conversation with the Manager, Misa was in.

…Which just left one little thing.

"So… Misa Amane?"

Misa nodded, hands in lap as she stared at the woman across the table. _Something_ Queen, Misa recalled, was a tall, blond woman in her early thirties and surprising friendly compared to her superiors back at Note Blue. And all in all, Misa found it rather hard to believe that this woman was the Assistant Manager.

"Then I suppose you're Chinese, or something?" She laughed, and Misa inwardly huffed; since when was her name _Chinese_?

"Japanese. But you were pretty close Miss. Queen." Misa said, donning one of her smiles. The fact that this woman probably had nothing to do with her paycheck wasn't going to stop her, sucking up to the higher ups, Misa had learnt, always came in handy for _any_ situation. "Oh! Misa just remembered something! The manager didn't tell Misa when she could start."

"Ah, so close." She said, with mock disappointment. "But you can start working first thing tomorrow. That is, depending on whether you know how to work the tables or not."

"Misa used to work at a café back in Japan too, so Misa knows what to do, Miss. Queen." Misa grinned, it was true. She did use to work at a café back in Japan, just before she marched right up to her boss and quite literally threw her resignation in his face to pursue her 'way to fame'. Somehow, she was starting to regret that.

"I see… But please, call me Samantha, I hate formalities." She smiled and stood up from her chair. Misa suddenly felt very, _very_ small.

"So," she began. "Think you can work next Monday?"

* * *

("_I don't blame you, for being you, but you can't blame me for hating it._")

* * *

It only took Misa three days to get it all down to a science. Despite the fact that certain discoveries (such as the fact that Americans could care less about tea –gulping down so much coffee that it made her sick to the stomach, and that some seemed to posses absolutely _no_ table manners –was it so hard to say 'thank you'?) took some getting used to, Misa was now working full-time at the Perfect Blue. And, although serving tables was easy, some _customers_ weren't.

However, it was to be expected; men would _always_ be men. And if they weren't hitting on you, or conspicuously looking _up there_, then they were probably with their lover _or_ gay. Still, Misa always smiled, sounding a little bit more strained than intended, and repeated the usual line.

'_May I take your order?'_

But when that didn't work, she kindly _slammed _the menu into the table and marched right off. The rain was quite distracting and the customer had _obviously_ not been given enough time to think through their order.

Thus, this was how Misa's new job had been so far, and this is how she expected it to be every single day, even _if_ tomorrow was her birthday. Still… She couldn't shake off the feeling that today was going to be different; she could feel it in her bones.

…Her bones that were currently protesting under the weight of one tray and what had to be thirty dollars worth of sweets, drowning in sugars and syrups.

Misa was pretty sure she looked ridiculous.

Still, she couldn't complain. Five dollars per hour while she worked; what? Eight? Seven hours per day on a good week? All just for cleaning up some tables, taking some orders, and seeing the look on the costumer's face when they realize just how much they've spent. Misa could not complain, even _if_ her arms felt like they were about to fall off and some costumers were anything _but _pleasant.

Misa scoffed, holding her head up high as she damned the costumer that ordered all of this junk; she could barely see over the pile of pancakes!

She scrunched her nose, if she even got a _drip_ of syrup on her clothes this costumer was going to face _hell_. The idea of facing another situation similar to _that_ one did not appeal to Misa at all.

Shuddering, Misa looked around the diner. This order was for table five, usually hard to get, but considering that today _was_ Christmas Eve and that most of Los Angeles was spending their time with their families, Misa was not surprised at the somewhat unoccupied state of the restaurant. Even with six staff members available, they were able to run the restaurant normally.

Turning around the corner, Misa put the tray in the counter behind the table. Without even glancing at the costumer, she began to place the plates.

"Sorry for taking so much time. We're a little short on staff, and your original waitress had a little… _Accident_." That is, if you consider getting the runs from snagging week-old chocolate cake from the kitchen an accident.

"That is quite alright, _Misa_." The costumer said, and-

Wait, _what_?

Misa wasn't wearing a name-tag, it hadn't been made yet. And, besides, that voice sounded like… Like… God oh God. It was official, someone up there was out to get Misa, because no being on Earth should be unfortunate enough to encounter _him _ in less than a month's span, especially not with the ridiculous amount of misfortune Misa seemed to be encountering as of late.

Swallowing her pride, along with the sudden urge to slam the pancakes into his face, Misa continued to set down the plates. All while keeping an eye on the man sitting in front of her. God _knows_ what he could do the moment she lets her guard down, knowing perverts...

He seemed to notice. "Oh? You seem upset."

She scowled, something she wouldn't do under any normal circumstance, but she'd make a special exception; after all, it wasn't every day that she encountered such an annoying person.

"…How _nice_ of you to notice, _Rue Ryuuzaki_." Misa finally said, after a few seconds of awkward silence. If he didn't notice the conspicuous sarcasm, then this was truly irony wasted on the stupid.

He grabbed the coffee cup with his index finger and thumb; she hadn't placed it on the table yet. "It was not concern or an act of _kindness_ as you've put it. I was merely stating the obvious."

Setting the empty tray on the counter behind Rue, Misa put both of her hands to her hips and huffed, head held as high as possible. If she thought this guy was annoying before, then she had obviously not given him enough time to talk, because he was now on her _last nerve_.

He stared blankly, as if expecting something. "Did I say something offensive, _Misa_?"

"…" If it hadn't been for the fact that Misa really needed this job, she would have given this man a piece of her mind already. However, she refrained, causing Rue Ryuuzaki to shrug and turn back to his coffee.

He frowned, looking up at her once again. "Do you have any sugar?"

Misa rolled her eyes, was he blind? "There's some next to you, _Mr. Rue_." She said, purposely using the same intonation that he used when pronouncing her name. God knows what lewd things he thought each and every time.

Rue tilted his head, as if to get a better look at her, and frowned. "It's not enough."

This caused Misa to make a double check on just how many packets of sugar there were in this table. She blinked, how are ten packets not enough? "Misa thinks you have enough, there are at least ten packets there."

The frown was still there, and he began to chew on his thumb. "Then Misa is mistaken. She is clearly too immature to understand how properly drink coffee."

…_Immature_…?

"Excuse me?" She began, gob-smacked. Who was he to call her immature? He didn't even look _eighteen_. "Who does Rue think he is to call Misa _immature_?! Misa will be eighteen tomorrow, she's as mature as she can be!"

He ripped open a pair of sugar packets and poured their contents into his coffee. Misa flinched, that was enough to give someone _diabetes_.

"How lovely." He began, opening the second set of packets. "But I am very certain that who I am is of no concern to you, Misa."

Misa almost scoffed, he was probably just trying to frustrate her.

"Fine. But Misa's not bringing you any more sugar; if you want more, bring your own, Mr. _Rue_." She simply said, and picked the tray up, purposely hitting Rue on the back of his head as she picked it up.

Childish? Yes. But he was the one who told her she was 'too immature'.

He made a small sound, and continued to pour the sugar into the now sickly sweet coffee. If he noticed that that small 'accident' was quite intentional, he didn't say anything. "I see. I'll call on you when I'm ready to pay, and, by the way, Rue is my _first_ name."

Misa turned on her heel, too prideful to give him the satisfaction of hearing her get frustrated again. Men were _always_ men, and no matter how odd Rue was, he still was one of them.

Even when Misa returned to work on Wednesday and found herself speaking to him again, it would change nothing about her opinion.

Oh no siree, _nothing_ at all.

* * *

**2165 words. I'm actually quite surprised with myself, considering it usually takes me **_**months**_** to type up a new chapter, and I'm not even including the never ending edits and changes I make almost constantly. Hah, maybe it's just the fact that I actually have a deadline with this thing, considering I usually work better under pressure. XD;;; **

**I do hope I got B's personality right, since I fail at writing serious (if not emotionally damaged/unstable) characters like him. **

**Anyways, just a few more chapters before this starts to go downhill **_**fast**_** (and by that I mean that, if this was AU before, just wait), so, until then, why not treat the authoress to a few, healthy reviews. They increase the chances of another 'quick' (by my standards) update. **


	3. Letter

**Subjugate**

-Three-

― x ―

Chapter Three: Letter

Rating: T -- PG-13

_Summary_: Suddenly, that trip to Los Angeles didn't seem quite so pleasant.

**Disclaimer**: The original Death Note concept belongs to Tsugumi Ohba, and Takeshi Obata, while Beyond Birthday belongs to Nishio Ishin.

This story forms part of the '30 Kisses' challenge at both LiveJournal and InsaneJournal. This is an **AU** that plays around with the idea of Misa meeting Beyond Birthday before the start of the original series.

sdjhfd. Sorry for making you wait so long for this short, piece of crap chapter in which Beyond doesn't even show up, but school kinda got in the way of updating. Sorry~

Now, before we start, let me make one tiny little detail clear: Misa's parents are still alive for the time this story takes place. I verified it with HtR13, and Misa's parents were murdered by a burglar on May 19, 2003. ;D Also, feel free to point out any grammatical errors; I had to edit this myself, so there might be a few errors lurking around.

* * *

It was Sunday, December 31st; _New Year's Eve_.

Back in Japan, this would be a glorious day of tradition and celebration. Kadomatsu would be seen in every corner, mothers would be at home preparing mochi for the whole family, and children would be seen _beaming_ with joy as they showed their mother and father the _wonderful_ nengajo they made for their relatives.

However, this was _not_ Japan. This was the United States of _America_, it would never be (nor did Misa particularly hope for it to be) _Japan_.

This, of course, may explain why her _dear_ old _not_-Japanese assistant manager had somehow found a way to convince the manager, Murky Blue (otherwise known as _The Narcissist, _and_ Your-Friendly-Neighborhood-Closet-Pervert, _between others) to close the store down around three so all the willing employees (and by willing, she really meant _suicidal_) could drown themselves in leftover alcohol and punch to celebrate the new year, while Misa, who had found no reasonable excuse to say _no_, wished for what seemed to be the umpteenth time that day to just the get _hell_ out of there.

This went on until it was well around six, and by then, Misa, who had decided to sit in a corner and stare at everyone else while they got absolutely _hammered_ (she would get to laugh at their hangovers the next day, anyways), was practically _oozing_ misery; to the point that Samantha, who had decided that using an empty punch bowl as a hat was a terrific idea, had walked (or shuffled, really) right over to her corner.

Of course, conversations with the inebriated were _never_ as eloquent as Misa hoped they would be, and, before she even realized what was happening, an umbrella had been shoved into her arms and she was being pushed out the front door while Samantha muttered something along the lines of '_go get your man'_.

All Misa had said was that she missed somebody, really, and she _did_ miss her family.

Either way, this may or may _not _explain why Misa was currently soaked from head to toe, fumbling with her apartment keys as she attempted to open the door without dropping them _or_ the umbrella into the _disgusting_ puddle of water in the hallway. If Misa was correct, it was around twelve in Kyoto, meaning that it was well past New Year's in Japan, and that her parents must be, more or less, getting ready to call the funerary services to mourn the disappearance and death of their dear, _dear_ daughter; going three weeks without contacting her family made her parents do strange things, really.

There was a _click_, and the door opened, allowing Misa to _finally_ go inside. She shivered, placing her umbrella in a corner, before taking her coat off and throwing it towards _God knows where_; if there was one thing Misa absolutely _despised_ about California, it was the rain, which was closely followed, by… Well…

She still hadn't returned Rue's jacket, Misa noted, it was still in the exact same place she had left it in before going out to get herself a new coat. It was _also_ stinky, dirty, and just generally _ugly_ looking, even after Misa had taken it to the laundry _five_ times (which may, or may _not_ have been an exaggeration on her part, but she was desperate to get the stench of week old strawberry jam and _Rue_ off of it).

Misa shook her head, she had more important matters to attend to than musing over Rue Ryuuzaki's filthy jacket, like, say, actually _writing_ something to her parents before they sent out a search party or did something equally _stupid_.

It wasn't that she didn't appreciate the fact that they were (probably, _most likely_) worried about her, but she was _eighteen_ for God's sake, and she could take care of herself. Her parents were specially fond of smothering her and--

No, no, _no_.

Misa needed to concentrate, that kind of thinking was what made her procrastinate, and _procrastinate_, until it was _already_ New Year's and she hadn't even done as much as to write _'Dear mother and father_', and that wouldn't just _do_.

And so, grabbing the first pen she saw, and snatching the nearest notebook in her apartment, Misa sat down on the couch, tapping her lips with the pen before scribbling down the first thing that came to mind.

_**Dear mother and father,  
**_

_**I'm sorry I disappeared just like that, but**_

…'But' _what_?

If she told her parents that she (or rather, her _manager_) had royally screwed up, and that she was going to be stuck here for a good, long while, working as a _waitress_, they would throw a fit, swim across the Pacific Ocean, drag her back to Japan, and lock her up until she was _fifty_. That was definitely _not_ something Misa wanted to happen.

She stared blankly at the 'letter' (if it could be called that) before her; telling her parents what had really happened was _not_ an option, obviously, and lying… Well, Misa was never one to _lie_ unless it was absolutely necessary, and, well...

One little white lie couldn't hurt much, right?

And thus, Misa began to scribble down the rest of her letter, pausing every now and then to think of ways to phrase a sentence without it sounding completely and utterly _wrong_. It took only _one_ word to give the wrong impression, especially when it came to the subject in question, and the_ last_ thing Misa wanted was for her parents to get the wrong idea, really.

Ten, or fifteen minutes passed, and Misa pursed her lips, debating on whether or _not_ she should change a _certain_ line (one that would surely give the wrong impression if phrased incorrectly), before deciding that it was fine the way it was and that she should just finish it before she got distracted, _again_. She would need to go to an internet café tomorrow to send her letter in an e-mail; mostly because it was faster that way, partly because she wasn't even sure that the U.S. postal service worked the same way as it did in Japan.

It was only after she had finished that she realized that, _yes_, she had forgotten to change out of her wet clothes and her nose was beginning to itch.

Good job, _idiot_.

_**

* * *

**_

The following day, the first thing Misa did upon arriving at her apartment after sending the e-mail, was to take out the draft from her purse, crumple it up into a little ball, and throw it into the trash-bin.

_**Dear mother and father,**_

_** I'm sorry I disappeared just like that, but you wouldn't believe what happened to me! **__**The shoot was a success; a **_**lot**_** of people want to hire Misa-Misa now! Isn't that great, mother and father? The pay for some of the jobs I've been offered is great, and the people I've talked to are really nice. Misa couldn't be happier!**_

_** But… Yeah… I got a little carried away with the job offerings, and I won't be able to return home for a little while, but don't worry! Misa is 18 now! I can take care of myself, so don't worry. In any case, Misa has an **_**awesome**_** friend to help her.  
**_

_** His name is Rue Ryuuzaki, and he's helped me a lot in the past few weeks! If I ever get the chance to do so, I'm going to introduce him to you. He's a little finicky, but I'm sure you'll like him!**_

**_Much love,_**

**_-Your daughter, Amane Misa. _**

Oh, she was _so_ going to hell for this.


End file.
